Monday, July 23, 2007
Poem: Landing, or, Aviophobia, Part 26
The plane eases down from 36,000 feet
And as the ground rises up,
My aviophobia dissipates.
The closer we get, the better I feel
Even though earth, and not the air
Is most likely to do me in.
I could maybe handle falling 36,000 feet
In a screaming jet moulting its parts.
It's that last foot that does you in.
The landing plane could flip head over teakettle,
And burst into technicolor flames
As it cartwheels to a stop down the runway,
When I'd use my lifeless seatmate's
Head as a stepstool to vault
From the twisted wreckage,
And I would still sigh
With relief when my ankles broke
As my feet touched mother earth.